Change
by Lady Vignette
Summary: He was falling; falling into the filthy pits of insanity, and he was letting himself fall. Rated T for gore. Departs Hannibal Rising canon.


The body beneath him was fit and toned to perfection, and the face that belonged to that body was contorted in pain and hysterical laughter. His mouth foamed, his vision was hazed with a red fog, and he could hear screaming that belonged to him. But, this was all too far away. He didn't notice anything that man—that _vermin_—spewed at him as his hands moved on their own accord, and he didn't notice the sobbing of the woman behind him or the swine's useless struggles. He could feel himself go numb. He felt himself fall to the filthy pits of insanity, and he let himself fall to where he swore never to fall before. He embraced the darkness that wrapped around him like a sheet. He could taste the madness on his tongue; the sensation of insanity pumping through his veins like adrenaline.

He was losing control.

He felt something grab his arms, and he snarled and his arm threw that thing off him. No, that didn't matter now. Nothing could stop this. It felt like this bound to happen; like an epic battle between God and Lucifer, or between Zeus and the Titans in a Titanomachy. This couldn't compare to it. Nothing in history would ever compare to this.

Hannibal Lecter's mask of sanity had slipped. Although a shocker, it was not a complete surprise.

The blood—the warm, sticky, messy, chaotic, _delicious_ blood—was spewed in his face, and he was suddenly licking his lips, growling still like an animal, his vision still vivid and covered with red. His body still shook with excitement. He was a predator on the prowl, ready to pounce at any given second.

He needed to see more. He needed to hear this man's screams of pure agony. He needed to see this man's last moments. It was no longer for _her_. It was no longer a game he played for the hell of it. Her screams—her awful, bloodcurdling screams—suddenly swarmed viciously through his head, and he screamed in an almost inhumane tone, holding his head in his hands, her screams matching his. He could see her, looking up at him innocently, and he felt truly connected and united once more as his baneful mouth and feral teeth collided with the man's neck. The sweet, metallic, welcoming taste of blood filled his mouth, and in a moment of frenzy he devoured the veins and twitching muscles there, savoring the nefarious, beautiful symphony of screams that followed. He could feel every nerve and every vein pop beneath his ravenous mouth, and he drank in his pain.

He was no longer Hannibal Lecter. He was bigger and greater than he ever would be. He was an _idea_. He was madness and insanity and revenge and confusion and wrath all combined to make one spoiled brand. He was on fire. He was _alive_. He spat out a chunk of flesh, and roared. The cold, dead eyes glared up at him, almost in worship, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He licked his lips, running his hands through his hair and licking his fingers, loving the flavor of blood in his mouth. His heart raced. He was a predator on the prowl now, ready to pounce. He needed more. That was just a little taste. A teaser. The monster needed more, and he needed more _now_.

He got up from straddling the body beneath him, a sense of disgust washing over him, and the madness still tingling about his skin in radiant waves. His vision was unusually vivid now, and his body shook more. The tears suction-wrapped around his eyes began to fall—years of emotional barriers and destruction washed over him, and he was screaming once more. He was on the ground, in the pool of blood that was not his own, curled in the fetal position, hysterical sobs wracking his body. In his tear-blurred vision, he saw her staring back at him with those innocent eyes again, and as she faded away, and as his life flashed before his eyes like a movie, the sobs turned to laughter. The world was collapsing on his shoulders. His chest heaved with giggles and sobs, and his mouth was foaming again. His mind spontaneously combusted; exploded into fireworks of chaos and change. Soon, his moment of euphoria died, his body still shaking and his hand aching from the firm grip of the knife that was now God-only-knows where in the room. He'd dropped it in his animalistic frenzy. He was hyperaware of his surroundings, and the taste of flesh and blood still lingered on his tongue. He looked at the body lying beside him, a messy 'M' carved into its chest, and he licked his lips, admiring his handiwork.

Lecter was calm.

* * *

**Here is something really quick that I wrote to help me procrastinate on an English project. I decided I'd share it with you all, since I love Lecter. He fascinates me, and I plan on writing more about him. This is my, shall we say, introduction to the fandom? I've never written about him really in the past until now. Go you if you caught the **_**American Psycho**_** allusions, since I love that movie and book. **

**This takes place at the end of **_**Hannibal Rising**_**. I know, I love SOTL/Hannibal/RD Lecter, but I got an idea for this that wouldn't let go. I embrace ideas. I sort of based this off book!Lecter, so you may imagine him with the maroon eyes and the black hair, which he has in the movie as well. I will be writing H/C stuff. Stay tuned!**

**Review, please. It's a writer's greatest gift and I'll love you forever and ever. ;D**

**-anarchylullaby**


End file.
